Two Lost Tales from SETC:

In the Fall of 1996, I traveled to my hometown of Louisville, KY. to participate in the South Eastern Theater Conference (or SETC). Basically, SETC was a cattle-call for actors and theater technicians. You went there to audition for summer-stock acting gigs or, if you were a technician, to show off your portfolio and get summer theater work. It was there, at that convention, that these two stories took place.

I never took the SETC conferences very seriously. Honestly, the pressure of the whole process (being 1 actor out of 3000+ that several hundred companies would look at in two days) was just too much for me to process. And because I was a bit of a prick with my teachers, they weren't exactly jumping at the opportunity to help me prep for the audition. Consequently, I went along to these conventions, in sort of a muddy, shock-induced haze. My monologues were always a bit sloppy. And my songs were only tentatively learned. It's no wonder that I was only called back by the company that a friend of mine worked at. I was never a very good auditionee.

Once I got the audition portion of the weekend out of the way, I always enjoyed the rest of the convention much more. I attended classes on physical movement, clowning techniques, puppetry, IMPROV, etc. I hung out with friends in strange bars. I smoked weed on a Miami balcony and lazily argued about what color the laser adorned skyscraper across from us was going to turn. Also in Miami, I swam in the ocean. In both cities, I hit on girls. I drank with friends. Once, I hid from an ex-girlfriend for three days in a hotel room. (I ate a lot of room service, that weekend.)

Seeking Out Alternative Amusements.
One of my favorite thing to do at the conferences was to hang out in the "warm up" room. The convention always supplied a "warm up" room for the auditionees to work out their monologues, run vocal warm-ups and stretch out physically. Warming up auditionees are so loud that they had to be sequestered away from the audition rooms and from the other hotel guests. You would hear all manner of beeps, whistles, falsettos, hums, shrieks and discordant melodies coming from the warm-up rooms. And if you actually entered them, you'd be surrounded by absolute lunatics. People would be sprawled out on the floor, pushing against walls, bent over chairs, doing jumping jacks, running in place, or doing yoga in every available corner of the room. And on each and every face, would be a look of polished, serious concentration as their mouths pumped forth the previously prepared monologues. It was like a slow, selfish, orgy for crazy people. Only nobody got off.

I liked to go into these madhouses and begin fucking with people.

I would take up a place in the room with these lunatics and stretch out, just like they were and then I would do the most outlandish, crazy physical movements that I could think of. I would lay on the floor and convulse. I would "silly walk" around my area, kicking my legs up as high as I could. I would pinwheel my arms and dance gaily about the room (lots of high kicks). I would get on my hands and knees and root around like a pig (with the appropriate amount of squeeling and oinking). Once, I very clearly had sex with an invisible woman, complete with moaning and gasping for air.

In addition to my "Physical Warm Ups", I would also run my monologues for them. Sometimes, it was a blur of nonsensical noise and random quotes in odd voices. I would be a robot. Then a baby. Then Jesus. Then Batman. I would do scenes from movies and impressions of comedians. I would recite "The Canterbury Tales" in olde English. I would weep and curse and stamp my feet and declare things. Sometimes, I would just do the Pledge of Allegiance, but fuck it up and curse myself for getting it wrong. Friends of mine would stop by and peek in at me, harassing the other auditionees and move on, laughing.

Nobody ever noticed.

All of the other actors were so absorbed in their "processes", that they wouldn't bat an eye at the man who fought off spiders that only he could see. I never got offered assistance. I never got called on my bullshit. I guess actors have a pretty wide tolerance for the insanity of the "warm up" process.

At the end of these "sessions" with the warm up actors, I would always bow and thank them for their time, before exiting. They might not've noticed that they were my audience, but they were. So, it was only appropriate that I would thank them for their time.

The Bathroom Confessionals.
Another indication of the Neurosis on Parade that was the SETC conferences, was the unique experiences of entering the various mens rooms in the hotel. As soon as you would walk into the bathroom, you'd notice that something was amiss. In addition to the usual bathroom sounds of running water and soft background music, you'd hear the quiet murmur of lowered voices coming from all of the closed stalls. Urgent, angry and stilted voices quietly confessing Dark Deeds in faux British dialects and hammy New Jersey accents. The men's room stalls were all occupied by nervous actors, running through their monologues.

I swear to you, I was finishing my actual business in one of the stalls, when I heard a grown man weeping in the stall next to me. In a child-like voice, I very clearly heard him say, "You never loved me, mother," in the weakest, most pathetic voice. I looked down and confirmed that his pants and underwear down. Now, THAT'S commitment to the artform.

Cheers,
Mr.B